Playtime
by Jimli
Summary: Dante still couldn't be sure he was doing this right, even after three years. Then again, he hadn't heard any complaints yet. The only challenge he never quite felt prepared for... Related to "At the Park".


_**A/N: **__Here is a cute, fluffy little story that practically wrote itself. I don't think it will be more than a one-shot, but I guess you never know. Wonder of wonders, it is completely clean. Well, alcohol is drunk, but there's no cursing, no violence, no sex..._

_Let me know what you think!_

_Jimli :D_

_P. S. The new cover art of chibi Dante is courtesy of plavo-sunce (and her Dante-muse). Thanks! :)_

**Disclaimer:** _So Capcom owns the rights to Devil May Cry right now, but the way I see it, when the zombie apocalypse comes, they'll be up for dibs, so I'm putting my bid in now, right along with my survival gear._

* * *

**Playtime**

Dante was rummaging through the office.

He sighed when he couldn't find what he was looking for, then wandered towards the fridge in the corner.

He pushed aside the colorful juice boxes and the gallon of milk to grab a bottle of beer from the back. His last one until he got a decent job, and that was still provided he didn't run out of funds before he picked up other, more important things.

He frowned over the thought, then caught the sound of tiny giggling.

He opened the bottle and plopped down on the couch. He plunked his boots on the coffee table in front of him, took a swig from the bottle, then closed his eyes. He was waiting.

He heard the refrigerator open, heard clumsy rifling, then heard the door close with careful deliberation.

Dante cracked open one ice-blue eye as little shoes came pattering towards the couch, accompanied by another tiny giggle.

A white-haired toddler had a juice box in his hands. He placed it on the table, then laboriously climbed onto the couch. The little boy turned around, reached for the now-distant box, then stuck his small shoes towards the table.

Dante watched this with a mix of amusement and fascination. He absently crossed his feet as he took another drink.

The little boy, his blue-green eyes glued to the hunter's every motion, also crossed his feet, then slurped from his juice box.

Dante blinked. Was the kid mocking him? He cocked his head curiously, watching as the little one also cocked his head.

Dante took another drink. The boy took another drink.

The hunter crossed his feet the other way; so did the toddler.

Dante shook his head, finished his bottle, and set it on the table. He needed music, so he wandered to the far corner where his prized jukebox sat.

He turned when he heard small steps behind him.

The juice box, no doubt empty, was sitting on the table and the kid was less than six feet behind him, also stopped.

"Whatever, kid," Dante commented, resuming his walk.

"Wah-e'er, kit," came the small response.

"I'm not the kid, here," Dante frowned, stopping again. "You are."

"I not kit," the boy answered impatiently.

He had his arms crossed and his face was puckered into a scowl. Dante hadn't even realized his own arms were crossed until he shifted again.

"Don't you want to play or something?" he tried.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Pway! Wanna pway!"

He ran forward and grabbed the edge of Dante's coat, obviously prepped to drag him off. When Dante didn't budge, he frowned up at the hunter.

"Come on! Pway with Tony," the little boy wheedled.

"I don't-" he stopped, looking at the three-year-old with fascination again.

Three years and he still wasn't used to this. Everything about the little boy amazed him.

"Pease? Pease pway? Pease Daddy?" his tiny voice asked, accentuating every 'pease' with another tug on his coat.

Dante moved quickly, startling the little boy. He had him scooped up into his arms before the toddler could even squeal.

"All right, kid. What do you want to play?"

"Chase Tony! Chase Tony!"

From the delight in the boy's voice, the hunter knew he'd just been waiting to be asked.

"Chase Tony, huh? I don't know, I usually only chase monsters," he mused, hiding a grin.

"Mon-sir chase Tony?" the little boy asked, confused.

"You want a monster to chase Tony?" Dante asked, equally confused.

Again delighted, Tony started clapping.

"Yay! Mon-sir chase Tony! Mon-sir chase Tony!"

Dante put the boy down, then did something he rarely ever found himself doing. He triggered.

The boy gasped, his eyes big and round.

"Daddy?"

"That's right," he affirmed, a little scared himself.

What if he frightened the kid?

"Is Tony scared?" he asked carefully.

"Daddy mon-sir?"

Dante wasn't sure how to answer that.

"Daddy mon-sir chase Tony?"

Dante nodded. "If that's what you want."

Tony's eyes grew round again, but he was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Oh no! Daddy mon-sir chase Tony!" he squealed, running away.

Dante grinned himself, striding after the little boy.

Four hours later, Lady walked into the office. The lights were off, despite the lateness of the evening, and quite a bit of the furniture was out of position, though none of it was damaged or overturned.

A strange rustling noise was coming from under the mezzanine, and she went on guard, drawing her guns.

Straining to see in the gloom, she made her way over to the couch beneath the balcony.

She blinked in disbelief as she slowly lowered her pistols.

A devil she was relatively sure was actually Dante was sleeping on the couch, wings wrapped around the softly snoring form of his son, Tony.

"Dante?" she asked hesitantly, but it was the boy who answered.

"Shh!" he whispered loudly. "Daddy mon-sir see-pin."

It only took a few moments for this strange admonishment to process in her brain.

"Daddy monster is sleeping?" she asked almost incredulously.

"Yep," the boy confirmed quietly.

"I think I'll just talk to him tomorrow," Lady said, still nonplussed.

"Night Wady," the toddler answered cheerfully in his stage whisper.

"Yeah, night Tony."

She locked the doors on the way out, resolved to show up bright and early tomorrow.

Just not _too _early.


End file.
